


Secrets and Suffering

by DD7



Series: Recurring Nightmares [1]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Child Loss, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Mpreg, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-06-16 20:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15444972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DD7/pseuds/DD7
Summary: Mycroft barely survived the first time it happened, he did everything he could to forget it ever occurred. When events repeat themselves, old friends return and secrets are revealed. Mycroft must face a new pain, along with the pain he has been ignoring for many years. Sherlock learns that he means more to his brother than he ever realised, after learning what he did for him. Greg learns that sometimes when those you love push you away, it means they care for you more than you think as appose to less.





	1. Gather the Family

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've been thinking about for a while and thought I'd write it down, see if it works out as well written as it does in my head. Mpreg exists in the same way female pregnancy does. This is not about Mpreg, just pregnancy and loss in general, that I felt it was easier to express through Mpreg.

The air is still, so still that Greg is afraid to breathe too hard, less Mycroft jump from the sudden sensation of the changing air. Its been several days, sometimes it feels like months, sometimes hours. The passage of time just seems so irrelevant. It all seems so irrelevant. 

Greg isn't exactly sure how longs it's been, Mycroft would know obviously, but he can't ask, he can't be the first to speak. He isn't sure what words he would say anyway. There just aren't words. Not for this. So, they sit here in silence, barely breathing. 

But at least Myc is out of bed, Greg thinks. Somewhere he knows its for the sake of Sherlock and John who sit mirroring the silence on the sofa opposite them, and not for him Greg can't focus on the fact he wasn't enough to get Mycroft out of bed, the spare bed, he just can't. 

He hadn't even wanted them to come around today, or ever. To be fair, he never wanted to see another living human besides Mycroft for the rest of his life. The thought that they can still go on, that he can still go on, as part of their lives if not his own, made him feel sick. 

But John being John had insisted, "It's not good to be alone", he'd said. Greg had only let them come, because somewhere underneath it all, he knew that John was right. Damn the doctor in him, for always knowing best. Ans Sherlock being Sherlock, couldn't seem to have cared less about the welfare of his brother, and was definitely only here under Johns  _persuasion._ And now here they all were, sat in Greg and Mycroft's living room, with everything to quiet, and everything to still. 

After however long they've been sitting, the silence is broken by a soft knock at the door; which startles Mycroft slightly, in a way that normal people who didn't know him that well wouldn't have noticed. A quick tensing of his seemingly too relaxed muscles, a held breath for a half a second, and a blink that was just too long. But he isn't surrounded by normal people is he. Its his family.  _His family._ Anyone else and he wouldn't have even got out of bed. 

It's Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft knows, everyone in the room knows. He does listen when Greg talks, for the most part, even now. Enough to know he said she would be coming around now. No one else, apart from the people currently in the room, would visit him under normal circumstances; and these were not normal circumstances. 

After the 4th heartbeat, Greg realizes someone must let her in. For a moment his body is so reluctant to let him stand, that he considers just curling further into the sofa, and never leaving. Somehow he gets to his feet, with his body protesting, he wants to scream. He wants to scream so badly he can feel it rising. But he silently, to silently, proceeds to walk to the door. 

Between the living room and the front door, Greg focuses on his breathing. Breathing and the fact he  **cannot** burst into tears the moment he sees Mrs, Hudson, no matter how much he wants to

His hand reaches for the door and for a second he recalls the last time he opened that door.  _The night it happened._ And he can't breathe again. 

Another knock, and he realises he hasn't opened the door yet, he's just been staring at it. So he opens it quickly, before he can change his mind. 

The cold air is the first thing to hit him. Its coming up to winter, this Christmas was going to be perfect. 

The second thing, he realises Mrs. Hudson is not alone, she promised she would be. Promised there would be no more intruders on their home today, than herself, Sherlock and John. Greg really isn't sure if he can handle keeping up this pretence in front of more people than absolutely necessary. Keeping it in front of Mycroft is the most important, and definitely the most draining part of it all, he cant risk Mycroft for the sake of a stranger. Greg feels a pang of guilt, for the blame he now placed on this stranger, mixed with the white-hot anger of Mts. Hudson lies, and the ever-present numbness. 

But Mrs. Hudson never lies. Not to her family. 


	2. A Strangers Power

“Hi sweetheart”, with a smile that to the untrained eye would look insensate. But Greg knows that she is just trying to be a usually smiling self in a difficult situation, and he is grateful. So grateful, he wants to cry again. The numbness is alleviated slightly by the flash of normality, and for that he feels the guilt intensive, and the numbness returns.  
“This young gentleman was waiting outside when I got here.” She pauses, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. “Would it be okay if we came in dear, I’m starting to feel the chill.” With that request Greg is brought out of his trance, realizing he was just staring, and he stumbles a little.e  
“I, yes. Of course. I’m sorry. Come in.”  
Mumbling her thank you’s, Mrs. Hudson picks up her bags, presumably shopping for himself and Mycroft Greg thinks, and goes straight through to the kitchen.  
The stranger stands just inside of the door as Greg shuts it, removing the rucksack of his left shoulder, he just waits.  
“Is there something I could help you with?” Greg says as calmly as he can when he realizes he’s got to say something.  
“My names James. I was hoping to speak with Mycroft if it’s not too much trouble.” He replies, not quite looking Greg in the eyes.  
“Look,” Greg says with a sigh, as he senses the man’s sincerity. “It’s not really a great time for visitors right now.”  
“No, of course not,” James says with a half-smile. “It’s just, I’m an old friend, and when I heard he was off work, I knew instantly what had happened…. And I just wanted to see him, let him know I’m here and that. But it’s stupid, you don’t need me randomly turning up on your doorstep. I’m sorry, I’ll go.”  
Something in his voice makes Greg stop him from leaving, maybe the genuine concern he seems to feel for Mycroft. “Wait here. I’ll tell him you want to see him, see what he says okay?” Don’t get your hopes up, Greg thinks.  
“Okay,” James says as he turns around, the small sound of hope and sadness in his voice is evident, from the possibility of being reunited with his friend for so long. “Thank you.”  
Greg nods softly, and heads first into the kitchen, where he notices the shopping but no Mrs. Hudson, and then into the living room where he thinks she must be with the others.  
Standing outside the Livingroom door here can hear the quiet conversation of everyone he knows is on the other side of the door that’s been left slightly ajar, everyone but Mycroft.  
Taking a deep breath, he opens the door enough to step inside, and the conversation halts completely. Mycroft gives that look, that look that Greg has been so uncomfortable accustomed to. He’s trying to be warm, like he used to be. But the small smile he can manage, never quite reaches his eyes.  
Greg stands there for a moment, in the doorway, looking at Mycroft, who still has the ability to make his mind go infuriatingly blank. John must pick up on the blank look, the way Greg’s eyes gloss over and the tears that want to fall. The way Mycroft subconsciously mirrors the look, the two lost briefly in a silent pain, John coughs a little to loud and with a sharp intake of breath, the two break out of their trance. Mycroft resumes his task of looking out the window.  
“Is our mystery guest still here?” Mrs. Hudson asks.  
“Visitor?” Sherlock asks, with a questioning look in his eyes.  
“Someone to see Mycroft, actually.” Mycroft turns around a little too quickly, that Greg is able to see the dizziness that momentarily overwhelms him, he has to fight the urge to run over to him. “You don’t have to see him, if you don’t want to. I can send him away.”  
“Its fine, he’s here now. You might as well send him in.” Mycroft says trying to sound as professional as he can, no one dare comment on how fake he sounds. “Yes, I’m sure.”  
“Right, Okay then.” Greg says, mostly to himself, as he turns to leave the room. Returning with James in tow a minute later.

When the two men re-enter the room, James stands where Greg stood a few minutes earlier.  
With a small genuine smile, looking directly at Mycroft and just above a whisper James says, “Hey stranger”.  
Tears immediately overflow Mycroft eyes, and Greg who is now standing here he in front of the window, Mycroft was just looking out of for so long, is shocked. Mycroft stands seemingly propelled by this onslaught of emotions, and with a quiet cry, he practically throws himself a James.  
“You came.” He whispers in between sobs.  
“Of course, I did. I would have been here sooner I just….”, realizing there is no way that Mycroft is even listening to him he stops. “Hey now, sh sh. You’re alright, I’ve got you.”  
And with that Greg leaves the room before he throws up. The front door is heard being slammed shut a few moments later.

Only then does Mycroft realizes what he’s done, but he can’t bring himself to care, as he continues to cry in James' arms.  
“We’ll give you two some time,” Mrs. Hudson interjects with a sad smile.  
With that John stands, “We’ll go and find Greg, come on Sherlock.” Sherlock sighs and mumbles something about not finishing his tea yet, being careful not to look at Mycroft, knowing his brother wouldn’t want him to see him in this state. John replies quickly with something about promising him a fresh pot when they get home and rushes him out of the room.  
Realizing that Mycroft isn’t in a position to take in any information, as he leaves the room John speaks to the James, “We’ll be around tomorrow, if you need anything in the meantime Mycroft has all of our numbers. We’ll ring young when we’ve found Greg.”  
“Okay.” James replies, with a smile and watery eyes, tightening his grip on Mycroft.  
As they leave the house, they stand for a moment hearing the suddenly louder cries of Mycroft, and James repeated assurances that it would be okay. John and Sherlock look questioningly at each other, before they quickly leave the house. Sherlock intending to get straight home and process what he’s seen, John desperate to find Greg.


	3. Running away, Running Home?

John and Sherlock split up shortly after they left Greg and Mycroft’s home. Sherlock was just as serious about not looking for Greg, as John was about finding him. After a short argument about looking out for your friends, which Sherlock barely said anything, other than “My mind is made up John, I’m better off at home…. He’s your friend not mine.” The last bit had stung, of course it had; it was a lie anyway, but Sherlock couldn’t admit to that. He needed to get home, to process the day's events, to understand that he really knew very little about his brother and why that was. Who was that stranger? Why did Mycroft have such an outburst? So many questions, he needed to get home, to think. But he couldn’t explain that to John, not with his mind so focused on Greg. So fighting was easier.  
John had the cab they both got drop Sherlock a few streets away from Baker Street, mumbling something about going to check the office to see if anyone had heard from Greg, after he dropped Mrs. Hudson off at her sister's. Sherlock had sighed, but got out without much of a complaint. And walked the streets to his home automatically, barely noticing the world around him and where he was, as he became more lost in his thoughts. 

As he got closer to his home, he noticed a figure seated on the front doorstep. Realizing it was Greg, he wanted to turn the other way and run, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that would ensue. But as he got closer he saw how broken the man looked.  
Back at his home he’d put a lot of effort into keeping up appearance, I mean, Sherlock could tell it was a front, but it was a good front. There was no front here. Just a vulnerable man, who even from a distance in the slowly darkening night, Sherlock could tell was focusing on is breathing. As if he was convinced he would stop, should he lose his concentration. His cheeks were flushed with the reminisce of tears, this momentarily frustrated Sherlock as he realized he had no way of knowing if these were tears of pain or anger. And by extension he was unable to be completely certain of Greg’s emotional state.  
But as he got to outside his home before Greg stood, shoving his hands into his pockets, as if holding to something to keep himself balanced. Sherlock quickly determined that whatever these mix of emotions were, they presented no direct threat to him.  
“I'm sorry to just turn up here Sherlock.” His name snapped him out of his thoughts and he realized he’d been staring at Greg. How long had he been staring for? “I just, I wasn’t sure where else to go, you see… And I couldn’t go home, I hope you don’t mind?” Had Greg just asked a question, Sherlock was still in shock. Surely he would know that John would have gone looking for him, so in coming here he knew he’d see Sherlock, which means he came here with that intention. And Sherlock doesn’t know what to do about that, but he supposes he should let him in.  
It's not that he particular wants to let him in, to have to deal with more emotions he doesn’t understand, when he doesn’t understand his own. But it is clear that he can't leave him out on the streets, if anything were to happen Sherlock is pretty sure Greg wouldn’t fight back. So he lets him in.  
“Do come in, Lestrade.” Sherlock says, trying to sound as normal as possible. Stepping past Greg, he opens his front.  
Greg smiles at this attempt at normality from Sherlock, though it so faked that even Greg can tell but he tried, and for that Greg is grateful.  
Following Sherlock inside Greg shuts the door, and tries to avoid thinking about the fact he was just for a single moment a little less upset about everything. He forgot. In all of this, for that moment forgot, it felt normal. And he can't forget, whatever has happened today, he can't forget. And it can never be normal again. But he needs not to think about that now, he’ll feel guilty later. He’s pretty convinced that any more emotion would probably crush him, and he doesn’t really want to test that theory.  
So he focuses on following Sherlock, on shutting the door behind them, and walking up the stairs. One foot in front of the other, he can do that. 

Sherlock realizes that he should text John, less he be looking for Greg all night. And does so quickly “He is here. SH.”, as he hears Greg’s footsteps up the door behind him.  
He places his phone on the coffee table, taking off his coat and scarf, putting them in their rightful place; walking quickly in the kitchen.  
“Do take a seat Lestrade. Two sugars, is that correct?”  
“Yes, thanks Sherlock.”  
Sherlock winces at the emotions in the forcefulness of Greg replies. His hoarse voice, reflecting how much he has truly been crying. And it's like Sherlock can hear it all, every cry. And so he tries to ignore it.  
When he goes back into his living room with two cups of tea, he sees Greg sitting on the sofa, not really looking at anything. He silently hands Greg the drink, who takes it with another attempted smile.  
Sherlock sits in his chair, waiting for John. Its an uncomfortable silence for Sherlock, but Greg is pleased by it. He knows Sherlock wouldn’t know what to say, and he's glad he isn’t trying. He knows that John will, when he gets here and slightly dreading that.  
The way that Greg holds his drink, a little too tightly, and surely with the heat of a freshly boiled cup it must be painful Sherlock surmised. He had to put his on the table, that is the only noise that breaks the silence, while the two of them wait for John to arrive.  
The almost scalding pain of that drink is all that's keeping Greg from dissolving into pain. As it cools he finds himself longing for the distraction of the pain, for a brief moment contemplating other ways he can emulate, missing the way it ground him.  
The front door opening snaps Greg from his thoughts. Greg stills himself, placing his still full cup on the table, ready for the coming wrath of Dr. John Watson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took me a little longer to upload, got distracted by OITNB lol.  
> Better hints at whats going on in the next chapter, when Greg opens up to John,  
> And explained in detail in the following chapter, when Mycroft finally reveals all to Greg, and we learn exactly who James is. 
> 
> Really appreciate your feedback, thanks for reading x


	4. A Friend in John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attempts to talk to Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to drag this out a little longer than I initially planned, really because I wanted to get a chapter up sooner rather than later.

“Hey.” John says, to calmly.  
Greg tries again to smile, at the attempted warm greeting of his friend, he fails miserably.  
An awkwardness fills the room, which Sherlock quickly picks up on, as John takes a seat on the sofa next to Greg. “Cup of tea, John?” He asks attempting to fill the silence.  
“Please love.” John replies as he takes Greg's now ice cold drink from him. “I think Greg could do with another one as well.” He continues, smiling warmly at Sherlock as he reaches to take Greg’s along with his own into the kitchen. 

John really was going to let Greg speak first, he really truly was. But when he hadn't said a work by the time Sherlock had returned with their drinks and excused himself to the bedroom to work on a case of some sort; which both John and Greg knew was just an excuse to get out of an uncomfortable situation, Greg couldn’t blame him he would do the same if he could. But as Greg still hadn't spoken John decided he should probably go first.  
“So, I take it, you don’t know who that James is then?” He asks trying to be casual while taking a sip of his tea. Whether it was the question it’s self or the fact that John had spoken braking the silence, that made Greg still, it’s hard to say. But he visibly stiffened, tightening his grip on the drink and looking for the first time since he'd arrived back home.  
“No.” He whispers, but it sounds a little like a sob, “Sorry”. Tears fill his eyes, and he quickly puts his drink down, realizing he'll probably drop it soon if he doesn’t. Hugging himself weakly, he looks away from John, apologizing quietly.  
“There’s no need to apologise to me mate. But tell me what’s this really about? It feels like more than just, you know."  
“And that's the problem isn’t it.” Greg replies with an anger that seems to come out of nowhere. ‘I shouldn’t be thinking of who that guy is, and why Myc could talk to him and not me. I shouldn’t be jealous now, should I? I should be with Mycroft, and instead I’m here.” At this point Greg stands and begins to pace as his anger rising again. “I'm here, screaming at you, while he’s crying with a guy he’s never mentioned before. And I just” Greg sucks in air to quickly “I just… I… John! ….. I can’t breathe” he practically screams silently grabbing his chest and looking at John tears streaming down his face. He suddenly runs from the room into the toilet, gaging forcefully. John follows quickly, careful not to touch the now visible shaking man.  
“Greg, you’re hyperventilating. Having a panic attack. You need to slow your breathing.” He places a hand on Greg’s back, who is leaning of the toilet  
“DON'T. He screams pushing John back so forcefully, he almost falls, catching himself on the door frame.  
“John, I’m sorry. I… I don’t….” Greg mumbles, as he slides down the wall curling in on himself. He bangs his head a little to forcefully for John's liking on the wall behind him several times, as if trying to snap himself out of the panic flooding his body.  
“Greg.” John says, clearly and calmly. “I'm ok, I know you didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have touched you, I’m sorry.” As he speaks John lowers himself to Greg’s level, and that's enough to stop him banging his, but he still isn’t breathing properly.  
“Greg, I need you to focus on me, can you do that  
“Try.” Greg gets out, in-between gasps.  
“Good.” John smiles. “I want you to take a deep breath in and hold it for 3 seconds, okay?”  
Greg nods. Taking a deep breath managing to only hold it for a moment, he chokes out the breath he tried to hold  
“Can’t …. Do …. Anything….” He stammers out angrily between attempted breaths, slamming his fist to the floor.  
“You can” John assures him. “You can do this, just try again, okay?”  
Greg closes his eyes and tries again to breathe. Breathing is easy, right? Of course, it is! Its instinct! You’re a grown man! GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!  
“Greg!”, John shouts, attempting to snap Greg out of whatever thought process has made every muscle in his body tense so much so that his muscles bulge slightly, and John is sure he isn’t breathing.  
“You need to breathe, Greg you’re going to pass out. What use are you to Mycroft if you pass out?” John tries hoping his love of Mycroft can anchor Greg back to earth. It doesn’t work so well.  
“He…. doesn’t ……. got ……… James.” Greg slurs through his quickly bluing lips, before slumping to the side and going completely lax.  
“Dammit, Greg.” John mumbles as he attempts to lie Greg down, checking if his still breathing. Though the returning colour to his lips, and the steadying rise and fall of his chest is proof of this, John still needs to be sure. “Sherlock get in here. I need you.”

Moments late Sherlock appears at the door. “What happened”, he says just standing at the doorway, seemingly frozen by the unconscious Greg.  
“He was hyperventilating so much he passed out. He’ll be fine, just needs to lie down. Help me get him into my room.”  
“And where, pray tell, are you going to sleep tonight John.” Sherlock mumbles as he grabs Lestrade’s legs, lifting his lower half simultaneously with John, and taking him to the nearest bedroom, Johns.  
“I will sleep on the sofa, if you don’t want my company.” John replies with an exaggerated smirk.  
Once the two men have got Greg comfortable in John’s bedroom, which is pretty much the spare room now, but that’s neither here nor there. John intent on speaking to Mycroft as soon as possible, hastily takes a light sedative from the medical bag in the kitchen, placing it on the kitchen table.  
“I have to go out, Sherlock. If he wakes before I get back and he’s struggling to sleep or starting to panic again, give him one of these, and make him a cupper. Can you manage that?”  
Sherlock who had gone straight to sit back in his chair, didn’t respond.  
“Sherlock.”  
“Yes, John?”  
“Did you hear what I said?”  
“Yes, if Lestrade wakes, I’m to make him tea and present him with one of those sleeping pills if he seems agitated. I heard you.”  
“This is important, Sherlock please, look after him.”  
“I will do as you require of me John, of course.”  
“Thank you.” John responds, placing a chased kiss on Sherlocks head, before he leaves to go and have much needed words with Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be John confronting Mycroft, and trying to convince him he needs to talk to Greg, as he explains to him why Greg left so abruptly; which as it was an emotional act, which as a Holmes brother he evidently missed.


	5. Confronting Mycroft

Its late. To late for a visit normally, but not for this. Time has no baring on this situation, and John needs to make Mycroft see. See that this is about Greg too, that at a time like this, they need each other. See just how much Greg is falling apart.  
Standing outside the Lestrade, Mycroft home, John has to control the sudden bout of anger he feels, remind himself that both men are suffering. But after Greg’s reaction its going to take all his professional strength, as a doctor and veteran, to not yell at Mycroft, and that James. 

He knocks quietly. To his dismay, its James that answers.  
“Hi… “James falters realizing he never took the time to learn the name of the man that stands before him.  
“John.” John replies frustration evident in his voice, he continues “I need to speak with Mycroft.”  
“Now isn’t a great time, John.”  
“It is never going to be a great time to have this conversation.”  
A flash of resignation crosses James’s faces, as he realizes John is right. With a small nod he concedes and lets John into the home. This is going to be painful either way he thinks, might as well get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

There is so little lighting on, compared to the last time John was in this house, that for a moment he wonders if Mycroft is sleeping and if its worth waking him for this discussion? He needs sleep just as much as Greg, and if he’s finally getting it now he should be left alone. 

As John enters the Livingroom following James, he sees that Mycroft is indeed still awake unsurprisingly, and sat in much the same position he was earlier, once again staring out the window. He’s sat slightly more slumped than earlier, but John is sure this isn’t him relaxed, simply just a reflection of him giving up on controlling the emotions he had worked so hard to hide earlier.  
“We found Greg, he turned up at ours.”  
“How is he?” Mycroft questions, turning to look at John, still unable to look him in the eye.  
“He’s sleeping now, he’s doing as well as can be expected.”  
“Don’t hide the truth from me, John. Even in the current circumstance I do not appreciate information being withheld from me, particularly about those I care for. Now I will ask again, and you will give me a complete answer. How is Gregory?”  
On his lover’s name, Mycroft’s voice wavers slightly, John isn’t quite sure whether this is simple because this is the most words Mycroft has said in a considerable amount of time, or whether it reflects the true concern that Mycroft is feeling for Greg. Though if it were the latter of the two, Mycroft would normally hide the emotions, though it is unlikely he has the strength to do so, even if he wanted to. John is impressed by the strength he was able to put into the words he spoke, faked clearly, but almost believable.  
“He collapsed.” It is then that Mycroft meets Johns eyes. “He’s fine, physically, Mycroft. I promise.” John quickly supplies, noticing the concern flash across his eyes. “He got himself worked up about everything I suppose, particularly James.” John says, looking briefly over to James who is sat next to Mycroft, with a small space between them.  
“What why? I don’t understand.” Mycroft questions clearly confused.  
“You did openly weep in my arms in front of him, Mycroft”, James answers.  
Guilt is evident in Mycroft voice as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to upset him, I just…” Mycroft stops.  
“I get it Mycroft, it can be hard to open up to the ones we love, strangers, can be easier. I just… I”.  
“Oh, do spit it out, John.”  
Looking directly into Mycroft eyes, John continues, sometimes you just have to say it he thinks. “You were the reason he was being strong, Mycroft. So, he could be there for you. And now, he thinks you’ve got someone else. And after everything you’ve lost recently, I don’t think he can handle the idea of losing you as well.”  
Tears roll down Mycroft face as he understands his actions properly for the first time, and they hurt. He betrayed his lover, as accidental as it may be, he still did it. His throat closes up for the first time it isn’t from the inexplainable heartache he’s slowly becoming accustomed too. Its guilt, pure and simple, guilt. And he hates himself.  
After a long pause, the tears drying on his face, Mycroft speaks. “I need to see him.” He says quickly standing.  
“Mycroft, he’s resting. He needs to sleep right now, its late.”  
“Then why did you come here, John? Why now and not the morning? Because this can’t wait.” Mycroft sobs once, heading to the door to collect his jacket quickly, hoping the distraction will stop him falling a part again. He needs to get to Greg, if he falls a part again, its going to take him longer.  
He places the jacket quickly over his night attire, John is pretty sure he’s forgotten he’s not really dressed to leave the house. But I don’t suppose he was planning to leave, John reasons. As he and James follow him quickly, sharing a brief look of concern, that Mycroft picks up on as he turns to face the two of them.  
“Look John. I won’t wake him, okay. I’ll wait till he wakes to talk to him, I promise. I just… I need to see him, see that he’s still breathing…. See him for myself, you know.” Mycroft rambles, looking directly at John, hoping he can see the sincerity and hope in his eyes.  
“I should be getting back to Christine anyway, John. And its probably not good for him to be alone right now.” James supplies, after it is clear that John doesn’t know what to say.  
“Christine?” John asks.  
“My wife.” James answers, sensing Johns confusion. He smiles, noticing his relief.  
“You have my temporary address, and my number. We won’t come tomorrow, Mycroft. I think you need some time with Greg. But we’ll see you the day after, if you’re up for it.” James says, grabbing his jacket from the front door, and softly kissing Mycroft’s head. “But you have my number if you need me before then.” he continues. Before looking back and giving a silent goodbye to John and heading out the door.  
“Please John.” Mycroft asks moments later. Any other day and John would think he was seeing, but this was Mycroft Holmes actually begging John for something? Yes, sadly, John surmised. And with such desperation, how could John refuse.  
“You can come back to ours, but you’re sleeping on the couch, and you don’t wake him.”  
“Of course, John.” And after a moment, “Thank you.”  
“You’re welcome, Mycroft.” John says dumbfounded by Mycroft’s use of manners, as he opens the front door.  
“Wait!” Mycroft says urgently. Fleeing quickly back into the Livingroom, returning with his phone, and something evident in his pocket, which at that moment, John thinks it is best to ignore for the moment, to get back to Greg and Sherlock quicker. “I’ll get Anthea to send a car” he continues pressing a few buttons on his phone and trying to be calmer, but John can see the act. “You must have spent a small fortune on taxis recently.” he continues, trying to laugh.  
John smiles briefly, as the two venture outside into the cold night air. Waiting a few short moments, before a black limo appears on the road in front of them.  
As the two get in the car, and Mycroft informs the driver of their intended destination. John contemplates two things; Firstly, if there will ever be a situation where Mycroft will ride in a car that is not so extravagant. Secondly, and more importantly, if Greg will be awake when they get home.  
For his sake, as well as Mycroft and Greg’s, he sincerely hopes not. Johns not sure how much more he can take tonight, and he really just wants to go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we know now that James is not a secret lover or ex of Mycroft's. But still, who is this mystery man, and why exactly is Mycroft able to open up so easily to him? What exactly has happened to Mycroft and Greg? All this will be revealed in the next chapter, I promise. Oh, and what does Mycroft have in his pocket, I wonder?


	6. In the end, the truth will out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heres the big reveal of who James is!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited to bring you this chapter, sorry that it has taken me so long to write, but hopefully, the length and sheer drama of it will make up for the wait.

The limo ride with Mycroft had only made John want to get in bed more, by the time the two reached 221B that’s all he could think of. They hadn’t spoken on the entire journey, and it definitely wasn’t a comfortable silence, but it was probably a necessary one. John would still likely have snapped at Mycroft without little provocation, and provocation was still Mycroft’s middle name, even if he’d forgotten it at the moment. 

As the two men entered the flat, John spoke in hushed tones. “You’ll be alright on the sofa, Mycroft? Greg’s in my room, and I’ll stay with Sherlock.” John waited for Mycroft to reply, while he put the kettle on and brought Mycroft a tea, for shock John thought, momentarily wondering how long shock can last for, but it was definitely to late for those types of thoughts. “Mycroft?” He questioned a little louder.  
“Yes John, your sofa is most expectable, but I’ll be honest, I don’t see myself doing much sleeping.” Mycroft replied sitting on the sofa, with a carefully blank expression.  
“Well do try, at least to rest, Mycroft. I’ll be back in a moment, with some bedding for you.”  
“Ever the doctor, John.” Mycroft replied stoically.  
When John returned he saw Mycroft sat holding the drink he had made moments early, knowing full well that Mycroft wouldn’t drink it, and suspecting he knew that too. Had he been thinking properly he would have offered him the same sleeping pill he had left for Greg, but thinking is something that is increasingly difficult to do the more tired you are. When he finally got to his bed, next to Sherlock, he was asleep in seconds. 

 

It was in that position, Greg found Mycroft a few short hours later. His eyes closed he appeared to be sleeping, but he was still holding the tea, a testament to the tightness of the grip he heled on the cup.  
Greg had only gotten up use the bathroom and was instantly shocked to see Mycroft there. He considered waking him, but as he knew the man had barely slept recently, he decided against it. Taking the cup gently from his hand, he proceeded to lie Mycroft down, removing his slippers and covering him with the blanket that sat next to him. And then he went back to bed. He still needed more sleep before he was able to deal with this, and he, forgetting in his shock all need for the bathroom. 

 

Mycroft woke sometime later, to Greg sitting in the chair opposite the sofa watching him. After Greg couldn’t fall back to sleep earlier that night, he moved back into the Livingroom simply to be close to Mycroft.  
“Hi.” Mycroft says to attract the attention of Greg who was absent-mindedly staring at nothing in particular.  
“Hey” Greg replies standing quickly, “Can I get you a cuppa?”, he asks moving into the kitchen before Mycroft even replies, he is not ready for this.  
Mycroft follows Greg into the kitchen, “We need to talk about this”, he places a hand on Greg’s arm.  
“No.” Greg replies anger seeping from his voice, as he pulls from Mycroft’s touch he spills the boiling water of the kettle he was in the middle of pouring over his hand.  
“Shit”, he yelps hissing. Quickly moving to put his now scolded hand under the cold water, Greg tries in vain to suppress the tears, only partially caused by his now burning right hand.  
At that moment John walked in. “Are you okay Greg?”  
“Yeah mate, sorry didn’t mean to wake you, I just burnt my hand.”  
“You didn’t wake me, I’ve always been an early riser, to the dismay of Sherlock.” He says with a laugh, “Let me take a look at it.” John says trying to take the wrist of the mans injured hand.  
“It’s fine.” Greg says trying to pull away.  
“Mate, I’m a doctor, its my job. Now let me see.” he says sternly. Greg concedes, looking at Mycroft for a moment, he can see the concern in his eyes, but he hasn’t moved from his position.  
“It doesn’t look to bad, you were right putting your hand under the water. I’ve got some cream in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll go and get it. Go and sit on the sofa I’ll be back in a minute”.  
Reluctantly, and fighting some new instinctual urge to run, Greg goes and sits on the sofa as John told him to, Mycroft follows behind.  
The two don’t speak, and although Mycroft looks repeatedly at Greg, Greg does not once look at Mycroft, and it kills something within him.  
Just as Mycroft tries to say something, John returns, sitting on the coffee table in front of Greg.  
“Here’s some cream that’ll cool the burn down, and a painkiller, just to help” he says with a small smile.  
“I’ll take the cream, John, but I don’t want the painkiller.”  
“Greg.” Mycroft sighs, “If you’re in pain, you need to take it.”  
“Painkillers won't help with this kind of pain, you know that Myc, plus the hands a nice distraction.”  
Mycroft looks away, suppressing a sob. Greg didn’t mean to snap, its just right now he needs his hand to hurt, he needs to feel something else, anything else. He regrets hurting Mycroft, but he can’t bring himself to look at the man, let alone apologies.  
“You don’t have to take the painkillers, but please remember the cream.” Greg nods. “Good. Me and Sherlock are going out soon, something about Molly needing help, so we’ll be out for most of the day. I’ll make you both a cuppa before we leave. And I have my phone if you need anything.”  
Greg attempts to smile but fails. John takes the attempt, and quickly goes to get Sherlock, the sooner they can get out of the house the sooner the men can talk, he thinks. 

Neither men speak until the two of them find themselves alone in the flat.  
Mycroft is the first to speak. “Do you want some help putting the cream on?” He asks taking the tube from the coffee table, looking at Greg who still refuses to make eye contact as he asks.  
“I’ll manage.” He mumbles but doesn’t reach to take the cream.  
“It’ll be easier if you let me help.” He insists.  
“Fine”, Greg agrees reluctantly, only now turning to face Mycroft slightly, still avoiding eye contact. He really didn’t want his help, he wasn’t sure he could take even this slight physical contact after so long without anything meaningful, but he had to concede it would be easier with Mycroft’s help.  
As Mycroft begins applying the cream gently, Greg feels himself relax, and reluctant to fall apart again, initially tightens his resolve.  
“I’ll be finished in a moment.”  
Greg nods to Mycroft’s assertion, finally starting to relax into his touch he is filled with panic, that should Mycroft let go he may never be this close again. It is a stupid, irrational thought, and he knows it. But one which is so overpowering that as Mycroft removes his hand, Greg grabs his arm with his other hand, gently squeezing. “Don’t let go” he says trying not to sound so pathetic at needing this contact from his lover, he fails, and then “Please.”  
Mycroft eyes fill at the moment Greg’s do and though Greg is unaware of Mycroft tears as he still hasn’t looked at the man, Mycroft knows Greg is crying, and for the first time is glad that he isn’t crying alone.  
The two men cry silently for a moment, together for the first time since that awful day.  
When he is in control enough to suppress the whimper Greg finally speaks, still looking away from Mycroft and, so quietly that Mycroft has to fight the urge to move closer to Greg to hear him better.  
“I just, I wanted to be there for you Myc, I tried so hard to be strong for you, it was all for you.” He sighs and continues “I thought there would be a moment when it hit you, and I didn’t want you to be alone. I wanted to be there”. Breathe he reminds himself, he wants to stop, but he thinks now he’s started he might as well finished. “We’re supposed to be in this together, and after everything I knew you needed someone, and I was supposed to… I needed to be that someone. And you fell apart in the arms of a stranger. A stranger Myc! You might know this guy, but I… I don’t know who he is. He was there for you, when I couldn’t be, when I wasn’t enough.” Greg sobs audibly for the first time in Mycroft’s presence, tightening his grip on Mycroft. “Do you know how pathetic that makes me feel?” He asks as for the first time he looks at Mycroft tears running down both their faces. “We’re supposed to be grieving, together. And all I can think about is him and how you need him more than me. I should be thinking about our baby,” Greg can barely get the word out, he feels his heart clench, but continues. “I I I’m jealous, Mycroft. I’m jealous of a guy I don’t know, and I stopped thinking about her, and I wasn’t there for you, and she’s gone, and I just… I” he breaks into another sob, severing all contact both physical and otherwise with Mycroft.  
For a moment, Mycroft’s sits there, watching the love of his life fall apart, as the sobs that wreck his body get louder, and more visible.  
He moves to the other end of the sofa, needing the space, and time to breathe before he speaks. He needs to tell Greg, the truth all of it. He knows that now.  
“Gregory, there’s something I need to tell you, you need to know who James is, you’re right and I should have told you sooner.” He sighs wiping his face with his hand, and placing the other hand in his pocket, pulling out a small, light blue baby blanket. Greg still isn’t looking at him, so he stares at it for a moment, before continuing. “I will tell you it all, my love. But I only want to have to tell this story once. So, I would much prefer John and Sherlock to be here, if you’re okay with that of course?”  
Now Greg looks at Mycroft, and nods, noticing the baby blanket in his hands, one he’d never seen before. He stills for a moment before Mycroft speaks again.  
“Thank you, Gregory. I’ll texts them to come back at their earliest convenience.”  
“Okay” Greg answers in a hoarse voice, “I’m just going to go to the bathroom.”  
“No problem.”  
As Greg heads to the bathroom, Mycroft texts John:  
If you and my brother could return to your flat at your earliest convenience. We have some things we need to discuss. MH.  
And then a moment later: As a family. MH.  
Mycroft is glad to be alone for a moment, as he has time to compose himself before he opens up about James, about all of it. He knew it would have to come eventually, and he was sure he could do it, almost sure that he could. Enough time had passed, he reassured himself. His mobile vibrated momentarily breaking his thoughts.  
We will be there shortly. JW

In the bathroom Greg fights to get a hold of himself, sitting on the toilet lid, just breathing. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever he was going to learn next, half convinced it was that Mycroft was going to leave him for James. Whatever was going to happen, he really didn’t want an audience for, and couldn’t understand why John and Sherlock had to be there to see it. But if it meant he was going to learn the truth, he could take it. If there was a chance it could bring Mycroft back to him, he could take it. 

Nothing much happened until Sherlock and John arrived home a short time later. Greg did end up leaving the bathroom, to back on the sofa with Mycroft. But the two men never spoke, never really looked at each other, or at least did so, so the other would notice. 

They couldn’t have arrived hone a moment too soon. Or maybe it would have been better if they never arrived home. Mycroft isn’t sure which one of these statements is true. But the moment John and Sherlock walk through the door, he genuinely believes the latter of the two. 

So now these two men are sitting across from Mycroft and Greg, they have been for a while, they’ve made tea and everything. But right now, in this moment, its here and he can’t find the words. He doesn’t know where to start. He wants to sink into some invisible hole, to never exist in another moment again, and he’s starting to panic, and then John speaks.  
“What’s that you’re holding Mycroft?”  
At first the question doesn’t make sense, he wants to ask John to clarify his question, that is until he looks down and sees he’s still holding the blue blanket in his lap. Exactly how long he’s been holding it for he isn’t sure, only then does he realize his hands have gone numb. 

“I erm” he fiddles with the blanket in between his fingers, half trying to get the feeling back in his hands, and the other part of him trying to ground himself to the story he’s going to have tell. He can do this, you know, he can, it just he really doesn’t want to.  
“Mycroft, brother dearest.” For the first in a long while, Mycroft makes eye contact with Sherlock before he continues. “There was an obvious reason that you insisted John and I return home, and here we are. If you do not hold up your end of the situation, you are wasting all of our time.”  
“Sherlock!” John interjects quickly.  
A small knowing look crosses Mycroft’s face, “Its quite alright John. Sherlock is correct in his deduction of my stalling, and I apologies to you all for that you all deserve better from me”. As he continues he looks back down at the blanket, “Its just this is a difficult subject for me to discuss, and I don’t really know where to start it.”  
“How about at the beginning, Love.” The pet name from Greg gives Mycroft all he needs to start the story; though the distance in his voice, is an ever-present, different kind of terrifying, whether he can get through it all, is another question entirely.  
“He was the head councillor at school.”  
“Mr. Davidson…” Sherlock supplied, instantly knowing where this story was going. His face not to dissimilar from Mycroft’s fear etched, deep into the skin. The brothers look at each other, and Mycroft can already see the guilt swell with in Sherlock. It wasn’t your fault… it will never be your fault. He wants to scream it at Sherlock, but of course he can already read it on his face.  
“Don’t be smart Myc.” Sherlock says not even trying to hide the pain in his voice, he stands quickly and heads to the kitchen table, placing all his weight on it, breathing harshly he continues. “If I hadn’t said anything to you…”  
“He would have hurt you instead. We both know that. I’d do anything to protect, Sherlock. Anything.” Mycroft said looking properly at Sherlock for the first time.  
“Someone abused you as a child, Mycroft?” John asks, not really sure why he’s looking for confirmation of what he already knows.  
“I believe you would call some of his actions abuse, Dr Watson. Though the most painful were those of a sexual nature.” Mycroft says, not really looking anywhere, scared to see the look on the faces of those he cares for most. They’ll hate him, he’s sure, he deserves there hate.  
Sherlock has already hated him for years, he made sure of that to keep him away. And John will try to be civil, managing amicably. But Greg, he will hate him. Plain and simple.  
There’s silence for a long while, and Mycroft looses all his will to speak. Sherlock hasn’t moved from the table, and John hasn’t even looked at him. But its Greg Mycroft cares about all he cares about.  
“Say something, Gregory please.” Mycroft begs, almost whimpering as he speaks. He needs to leave but he can’t just walk out, he can’t just walk away from Greg, not after everything they’ve been through.  
After another minute, Greg finally looks at Mycroft tears in both there eyes, he asks the one question stuck in his head. It’s the one thing he knows he shouldn’t be thinking of right now, yet the only thought he has, selfishly he takes a breath and asks. “What does this have to do with James?”  
“Really Greg.” Sherlock shouts turning round to face everyone, making everyone else in the room jump. “My brother just told us all that he was abused and raped as a child, and the first thing you ask him is about a guy you saw him hug!”  
Greg knows that Sherlock is right, he’s about to apologies for asking the question at such as a stupid time when Mycroft speaks.  
“Sherlock do be quiet. I betrayed Greg, he’s entitled to want answers to what he saw.”  
Sherlock visibly sulks, but says nothing more. 

“Mr. Davidson,” Mycroft continues, “had his … way with me”, closes his eyes for a moment, memories overwhelming him. “Periodically, over several weeks. After the 14th encounter, I felt something, I….” Greg is the only one in the room now looking at Mycroft, everyone else is averting there eyes, and Mycroft is so grateful. “He usually made me sick, but I was never actual sick, I mean the first time, I was, shock perhaps. But the other times, I just let it happen, I was fine.” He stops breathing for a moment, visibly shaking, before he continues. “This time, after he finished, I ran straight to the nearest water closet and was sick. I didn’t equate it to the recent events at the time, I had been sick a few days, usually in the morning, but it happened daily. Some other boys saw me run, but I couldn’t stop, I heard them follow me, and I heard someone stop them, it was James. He came in a few minutes later, handed me some tissue, I was now leaning over the sink, asked me if I was okay. I tried to warn him off, tell him it was not his concern. And then he starts going on about when his sister was pregnant with his niece, and I was sick, again, right there in the sink. I knew, I don’t know how, but I knew I was pregnant, and I knew it was his.”  
“Oh, Mycroft… I” John begins.  
“What about the child?” Sherlock interrupts Mycroft looks over to Greg who isn’t looking at him anymore, and for a painful moment he’s sure it’s because he can’t, he hates him that much. “If you were pregnant, what happened to the child? And why didn’t I notice?!”  
Mycroft laughs, his brother's relentless egocentrism, was a comfort. “If I gave you an answer, when you were a child, you took it, had no desire to look any further.”  
“So you lied to me?”, Sherlock states angrily.  
“I lied to everyone, Sherlock. Except James. He figured it out, so I … he was there. The only one up until now I ever told. He stood by me, helped me plan what to do. We were, we were, going to give him away. If I kept him, I had to explain it again and again, and I just couldn’t. And anyway, he deserved a better life than me.”  
“You gave away your child?” Greg almost sobs, still not looking directly at Mycroft, but more towards his direction. Small mercies, Mycroft thinks.  
“I…” Mycroft tries, looking at Greg seeing the pain in his eyes. He has to look down before he continues, “That was the intended idea, yes Gregory.”  
“But not what you actually did?” John questions.  
Mycroft looks directly at John, tightening his grip on the blanket. “I went into labour earlier than I calculated, so I called James, in a blind panic. He took me away, to this little cottage, his parents own. By the time we got there, I was in so much pain I couldn’t think. When I got out of the car, there was blood on the seat, and I almost passed out. He got me inside, and well….. he… he was born. And he didn’t cry, Mycroft sobs “not a sound.”  
Silently for a minute, Mycroft loses himself in his grief and guilt, he's drowning, and he cant breathes, and he just wants to disappear again.  
The eyes of everyone else in the room are wet, and John is about to speak if only to brake the deafening silence, when Mycroft continues.  
“I didn’t even see hin,” another sob slips through his body. “James took him away, and buried him in a field somewhere, im not exactly sure where. It was to much then, but now… now I don’t even know where to go to see my boy.”  
“And you’ve never asked James?” The question is raw, from a broken voice, and that’s a big clue to it coming from Greg.  
“I tried…. a few times. But I just didn’t know how, how to bring up something I told him I wanted to only forget. I told him I wanted to forget my son Greg!” Mycroft's anger at his own actions coming through in his voice. “This blanket is all I have of his…. I tried to get rid of it, but I just couldn’t. I just couldn’t forget, I tried.” And then after I second, “I'm sorry.”  
Greg places his hand on Mycroft's leg, and Mycroft cant help but jump. He honestly believed he would never feel the touch of the man he irrevocably loves again. Its not much, but its contact. And even that allows Mycroft to breathe a little easier through his sobs.  
“Let's go home”. Greg says, trying to smile, but as Mycroft looks at him, he knows it isn’t a genuine smile, how can it be after all this. But the love his sees in his eyes, is true, and he knows it.  
As the two men stand, not loosing their physical connection, Greg speaks quietly to John. “It's going to be the day after tomorrow”, he whispers, as Mycroft practically passes out in his arms.  
“We’ll be there,” John assures him, and with a tight nod and unspoken thanks, the two men leave.

John and Sherlock are left alone in the flat. Sherlock still leaning on the table and John just standing in the middle of the livingroom. John doesn’t know what he's supposed to do with the information has just been given, and he can see that neither does Sherlock. So John does the only thing he can think of.  
He crosses the room quickly, wrapping himself around Sherlock, who looks up to meet his eyes. John strokes the tears as they fall freely down Sherlocks face, he can read a thousand emotions, the strongest one is guilt. He touches his forehead to Sherlocks, willing him to know that whatever happened to Mycroft was not his fault.  
John kisses Sherlock, desperately, they both need this contact. “I'm here,” he whispers, then a moment later, “I’ve got you.” They touch each other with an increasing feverish speed, John can tell this isn’t love, not this time. It’s a desperate need to be held, to be loved, wanted, forgiven. And he is happy to supply what Sherlock needs, not wanting to be alone either.  
Things progress to the bedroom, as they inevitably do. And for the first time in all the times the two of them have slept together, Sherlock cries as they make love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's going to be a couple more chapters to this, the next one I have already started working on so hopefully shouldn't be too long. I was thinking of maybe writing a second part, focused more around Mycroft's first pregnancy. Let me know what you think, as this will affect the amount of future involvement I give James in this story. If you couldn't already tell, I already have ideas of where to go with this. But I know I need to get this story finished first and am trying not to get ahead of myself. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and being patient with me, and in advance for your thoughts on my idea.


	7. Stronger Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter Mycroft needs to be the strong one for Greg.

Mycroft was too out of it to notice as they entered the Limo, but as they arrive at his and Greg’s home, he notices the light in the sky. It’s about midday. For a moment Mycroft’s mind flutters to where they will be two days from now, as he stands there waiting for Greg to let them into their home. A touch on his arm brings him back to reality, and silently he follows his lover inside.  
Neither of them talks, Greg doesn’t know what to say and Mycroft’s just tired of talking, tired of it all. He heads straight to bed, to their room for the first time, while Greg puts the kettle on a brings them both a cup, silently wondering if this time the tea will actually be drunk.  
When he gets on to the bed, sitting next to Mycroft who is just sat on top of the blankets, he holds in his desire to point out that this is the first time the two of them have been in this room since that night.  
The two of them sit wordlessly for a moment holding their drinks. What was supposed to happen now? Two days, 48 hours, there was nothing to be done but sit here and wait till then. And then? And then it would happen, and be over. Then what? What now?  
Mycroft and Greg are somehow sharing the same thoughts, and this train is only broken when Mycroft begins to shiver. The room isn’t cold, but Mycroft is freezing. 

“I erm, I’m going to shower,” Greg says absentmindedly as he picks up his phone. “It's 9 O’clock already. We missed tea.” How did that happen? Greg wonders for a fleeting moment. “Are you hungry? I can make something quick? Or we can order in?”  
Mycroft’s replies not in words, but simply places his still full mug on the bedside table, lie on his side an curl himself into a tight ball.  
Greg sighs quietly and heads to the bathroom, placing his equally full mug on his bedside table as he goes. 

Waking sometime later, from something akin to sleep. Mycroft roles over and is surprised not to find Greg lying beside him. It takes a moment for his hearing to focus completely, but then he can hear the shower water running.  
Looking at the time, he sees it almost 1 am, surely Greg should have showered by now. Mycroft goes to investigate. 

Walking into the bathroom, he is instantly hit by steam, the heat following quickly behind that.  
“Greg?” he questions lightly, moving into the large smoke-filled bathroom.  
“My” and then a sob.  
Mycroft heads to the shower, opening the shower door a little too quickly. He sees Greg curled into the corner of the shower cubical naked, trembling slightly.  
“Honey,” Mycroft says as he turns the water off. “How long have you been here?”, he says grabbing a robe and wrapping it around Greg. When he doesn’t get an answer he continues, “Come on love lets get you to bed.”

It isn’t till about an hour later when they’re both lying in bed and Greg thinks Mycroft is asleep that he speaks, so quietly its almost a whisper. “I’m sorry I let you down, My. I promise Ill be stronger tomorrow.”  
“Oh, Gregory,” Mycroft replies rolling over to face his husband. Placing his arm around him holding him as tight to himself as he possibly can, and kissing his tear-stained face. “You be strong for me, and I’ll be strong for you, that’s how… that’s how this is going to work. Okay?”  
“Yeah.” Greg can only sigh in response, almost like he’s letting a breath out. They are both now crying slightly. “Okay, Mycroft.”

Their foreheads touch, as the two focus only on there breathing. Eventually falling into a dreamless sleep. The closest to peaceful the two have had since this ordeal began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually thought I'd got further with this than I seem to have, I guess I just thought about this chapter (and the next one) and didn't actually write any of it. I'm sorry it has been so long, life gets in the way, you know how it goes. I'm aiming to get the next chapter up before Christmas. A filler for the day before the funeral. I'm hoping I've made it clear who's funeral it is, but ill probably leave the funeral chapter until after Christmas unless I need the escape. But no one needs that darkness do they really. Like I say, I've been thinking about the next two chapters, and a little further on for a while anyway, so much so that I actually thought I'd written it. So it is all planned it just needs writing. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience, and reading my work, it means more than I can say. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you all! (In case I forget!!!)


	8. Interim's pass the time, phone calls start the lies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day of struggling emotions are high and neither of our two favourite men is particularly strong today. But isn't there some strength in being weak together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me months to upload I wanted to have this chapter and the next one finished before I uploaded either of them so it took longer than I thought. Life got in the way a lot... as you can clearly tell so thanks for being patient with me and I hope you enjoy.

You know those days where you wake in the morning and you have no idea what time it is. I say morning as if you know that’s what it is, but it could be 9pm at night for all you know. That’s how Mycroft feels when he wakes the next morning. He’s alone in the bed. 

Picking up his phone of the nightstand, realizing he has forgotten to charge it, and it wont switch on. He sighs, deciding to go find Greg. 

Walking into the kitchen, in the same clothes he’s been wearing for more than 24 hours now. Mycroft finds Greg stood stirring a pan of something, staring off into space. Only then does she enter his mind.

Clearing his throat to get Greg’s attention after a few moments of just watching. Mycroft shivers slightly as he sees Greg shocked by an action that normally would not phase him. 

“Hey love, I’m sorry, just making breakfast, well brunch.” Noticing he’s rambling without turning round, Greg continuous chuckling slightly. “I… there’s a message on the answer phone, I started to play it and noticed it was for you, so I didn’t listen to the rest.”

Mycroft slowly walks up to Greg and puts his arms around him, feeling him momentarily tense then relax. “Thank you”, Mycroft says in little more than a whisper. Kissing Greg’s shoulder gently before walking from the kitchen into the connecting Livingroom, where there home phone is. 

Hey Mike, it’s James. And now Mycroft knows why Greg didn’t listen to the rest of the message. I know I said me and Christine would come visit today, but somethings came up. I… I’m really very sorry Mikey. But I’ll definitely be there tomorrow, and you can still reach me on my mobile if you need anything. Give my best to Gregory wont you. 

Listening to the beep of the end of the message, Mycroft is lost in its words, something else that’s gone different than planned, something unexpected, wrong. It shouldn’t make him wont to cry, for what seems the hundreds time is as many hours, and yet it does. He has to fight back the tears. 

“Grubs up!” Greg says trying to emanate his usual cheer, but its an obvious strain for him to speak. The fact he’s still trying, warms Mycroft a little. 

Mycroft heads to the small table in the kitchen and sits quietly. Thanking Greg, it doesn’t take long for him to notice there is only one plate and Greg wont look at him. 

“Are you not eating?” Mycroft questions to Greg, who has now turned back to the sink and is washing the few pans he’s just used. 

“I ate earlier.” Mycroft knows it’s a lie, one meant to not let Mycroft worry, and yet the two of them don’t lie to each other so he worries. 

Mycroft is quiet for a few minutes, eating a mouthful or two of food before he speaks careful. “As lovely as this, what did you call it?”

“Brunch”.

“Yes, Brunch.” The normality of this type of conversation sickening, Mycroft unaware of some colloquialism, used far bellow his usual societal status. And Greg, dear Gregory, feeling pride in supplying his lover with new information. “As lovely as this is, my dear. I fear, I will be unable to eat it all. Will you sit with me and eat a little?” 

Greg tightens before he replies quickly, “I’m fine, I’ve got to finish this.”

“Gregory, the washing up can wait. Please, sit with me.”

With a sigh Greg turns and sits opposite Mycroft at the table, half startled by Mycroft pushing the plate into the middle of the table. They still haven’t looked at each other since the events of last night. 

“Please, love. Eat something.”

“I can’t”, Greg replies looking away, his voice tight. 

 

Mycroft can feel the tears already, steading his breathing, he stands, Greg shuts his eyes half expecting Mycroft to leave. Until he feels hands on his lap, opening his eyes briefly to see Mycroft kneeling in front of him. Both men are both teary eyed, and they haven’t even started this. 

“I meant what I said last night, we’re in this together.” Mycroft pauses waiting for a reply, he’s about to continue with something about knowing how hard this all is, before Greg finally says quickly.

“I can’t do this, Mycroft, I can’t. I’m no good for you.” The certainty in his words is frightening to Mycroft, he’s wrong of course he is, but he’s so sure with his words. “I’m supposed to be the one looking after you, I failed her…” he sobs, stands and turns around, leaving Mycroft on his knees. “and now I’ve failed you. I want to look after you, but I can barely move Mycroft. Its like everything is slow, and fast and spinning, and I’m trying to hold on to you, because I can’t lose you both Myc. I can’t. I’m failing you. I can’t do this…..” and then he’s just back at the sink sobbing. 

Mycroft cries a little, on his knees by the chair, almost in time with Greg.

“When I woke up this morning, you were my first thought.” A sob cuts the sentence short, but its unclear who exactly it was. “……. You, not her”, Mycroft continues with a little anger in his voice. “I can feel life slowly slipping back to before she existed……. and it can’t do that Greg, it just can’t.” And then he hits the floor in frustrating, keening slightly. “I’m not ready to lose her………. I’ll never be ready.”

For a few minutes the two men just cry, breaking more and more. Until Mycroft breaks the silence with a whisper. 

“I’m not expecting you to have all the answers, Gregory. I know you want them, but I don’t… I don’t think they exist in this.”

Mycroft stands…. “If you’re going to leave, can you…… will you wait until tomorrow, I don’t trust myself to go alone, and I can’t abandon her. Please.”

Mycroft walks into the Livingroom, switching on the television, to drown out the agony in his head, he’s sure now is also physical. He curls in on himself on the sofa, hugging his legs tightly, rocking a little. 

His eyes are shut so tight, that its only for the ripple next to him that he learns he is no longer alone. 

How can arms feel so strong as they shake, Mycroft wonders for a moment, as his entire world holds him. He instinctively leans into Greg, taking the contact from the man he loves, so long as he is willing to   
give it. How much longer that will be for he is to afraid to wonder. 

After a few minutes Greg pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa, wrapping it around them both. It isn’t much comfort, but eventually both there shaking stops. And yet neither of them move. As if maybe they will never have to face tomorrow, so long as they stay perfectly still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the errors, and that it's taken me so long to upload. But I've got another longer chapter after this ready to upload now. Thanks for reading.


	9. Tomorrow Always Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Funeral of Greg and Mycroft's baby....... Is there anything else I need to say?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heres the big chapter, sorry it took so long but I hope you find it worth the wait. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy. Please ignore any spelling mistakes, I'm too tired to check it all again! lol
> 
> Edited to add an extra sentence, and additional detail, which may form an important part of the story in future books but I'm not sure as yet.

To say neither of them slept isn’t true, but sure as hell they don’t feel like they’ve slept. 

When Mycroft opens his eyes, Greg is still snoring lightly underneath him. As gently as he can he stands, aching slightly as a result of their night spent on the sofa. He covers Greg with the blanket, watching his lovers calm face, and wondering for a brief moment how much better his dreams must be than their reality. He goes to the bathroom. 

It isn’t until he’s in the shower that the gravity of what day it actual is hits him. And it takes his breath away. 

On autopilot he finishes his shower and heads to the bedroom to get dressed. Standing at the foot of their bed, its only then that he realizes they haven’t decided what to wear. How are you supposed to decide what to wear for something like this? How can something be so irrelevant, what they wear will change nothing, and yet still feel so important?

Mycroft berates himself for forgetting, he’s already forgetting her. And he doesn’t have the mental energy to cry anymore, but its like his body hasn’t caught up with the tiredness. So, the tears stream down is face in total silence, as he stares at the headboard of their bed. 

Greg stirred at the sound of the shower, but decided he’d leave Mycroft to shower alone, he needed a few minutes anyway. When he hears Mycroft walk from the bathroom to the bedroom, he decides it’s time to face the day. But he needs the toilet first, he’s not stalling, he isn’t. 

When he leaves the bathroom, he realizes he hasn’t heard a sound from Mycroft. He’s a quiet man, but never this quiet. 

In his dressing gown his stands at the door, to see Mycroft stood in nothing but a towel at the foot of their bed. 

“My?” Greg questions in nothing but a whisper. 

Mycroft starts to shake. “How could we forget Greg? How could I have forgotten?”

“Forgotten what, love?” Greg asks confused. 

“The suits!” He shouts angrily turning to face Greg. “I forgot about the suits. So we have nothing to wear today. Nothing good enough and I wanted it to be perfect. And I forgot…… I ……. How could I do that?” Mycroft questions dissolving for a moment into nothing but sobs.

Finally something I can do, Greg’s brain concludes. “Oh sweetheart…” Greg moves nearer, taking both his hands now covering his face. “Today is going to be as perfect as it can be, I promise.” Greg kisses Mycroft’s head before heading to the wardrobe and retrieving two suits, it isn’t Mycroft’s best suit and Greg knows it, but its still better than any clothes Greg owned before the two met. Their best are suits are kept by Anthea, in order to keep them at their best, and their wasn’t time to get the suits from her now. 

The two dress in silence, Mycroft better practiced at wearing suits, is dressed a lot faster than Greg. But eventually they’re both dressed. They’re ready, at least physically for the day. 

………

Somehow they’re in the limo, and fuck fuck this is happening. 

They’re meant to travel with her there, but Mycroft didn’t think he’d be able to ever move again after seeing her. 

So they’re in the limo. Quiet. Barely breathing and definitely not thinking. 

Going to her. For the last day in her existence that will ever matter. The only important day she will ever have. 

And they’re trying so hard not to think. Lost in not thinking. That’s it’s the driver who points out there journey so far has ended. 

“Mr. Lestrade, Mr. Homes. We are here.”

The only response is a restrained sob, and the driver is unsure as to who it comes from. All the same he gets out of the limo and opens the passenger door at Mycroft’s side. 

Mycroft for the first time in his life of all the doors that have been opened for him, resolutely and with intention does not move. 

Greg sighs deeply breathing, he has to breathe or he wont be able to stand. 

Painfully slowly he exists through the door on his side, closing his door silently and going to the other side of the limo. 

He looks their driver square in the forehead, definitely not in his eyes. He gets the message and turns to sit back into the front of the vehicle. 

Greg grabs the door in one hand, offering Greg his other. 

“Darlin’.” And he doesn’t want to go there, but it’s the truth, and they both need that right now. “I cant do this with out you”, don’t make me beg. 

Mycroft takes his hand. The tremors he’s clearly trying to suppress evident with physical contact. 

He steps out of the limo and for the first time since they were dressed, they lock eyes. 

He tries to speak. Try’s to apologies for the obvious weakness before they’ve even gone in. But the words wont come. 

Greg’s response is to kiss him gentle on the head, and turn to face the church, taking his lovers hand. All in one quick motion that Mycroft is momentarily dazed by it. 

They walk, slowly, silently, together. 

The sight of John and Sherlock stood silently at the main entrance is a great comfort. If Mycroft were himself right now he would be somewhat amused by the fact that he finds his brother a comfort. But he cant think, he can barely feel. If it wasn’t for his lovers hand in his at this very moment he wouldn’t actually believe he was here.

No words are exchanged between the four of them, and Greg wishes for the first time ever in his life, that Sherlock would speak. Say something inappropriate, how this is all so pointless, she’s already……… his silence makes it real. 

This is happening. 

John walks with Greg and Mycroft to the front of the church guiding them, its testament to how lost they both are, that there isn’t a single objection to this.

The two of them are sitting, front row, alone again. Greg cant bring himself to think about why John and Sherlock aren’t with them. 

If either of them noticed the arrival of Mrs. Hudson and James who sat on the row behind them, they never said.

A few moments pass, the room is deathly quiet until the room erupts into the sad sweet music. Mycroft closes his eyes briefly before the two of them stand. 

Carrying a coffin that is much too small, John and Sherlock enter. One of them could have easily undergone this task alone physically, but emotionally it is obvious they needed to do this together. 

Neither father looks behind themselves, in a last ditch and futile attempt to ignore there world falling apart.

For the first time Mycroft places his other hand on his stomach, attempting to ready himself as the coffin enters their line of vision.

Greg’s only evident reaction is to squeeze his lovers hand. 

As Sherlock and John proceed to place the coffin on the alter, Mycroft audibly squeals with a painful screech Greg is sure he will never forget. He instantly goes very weak. 

Sherlock almost on instinct goes to Mycroft. Holding his brother who has so clearly lost all control. “No.” he cries. “Don’t leave her, Sherl’k, don’t”. He sobs into his brothers chest. Releasing Greg.

He meets Johns eyes briefly. 

“John has her, My, he has her. Shhhh. I’ve got you.”

Greg hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t say a word throughout the funeral. John doesn’t move from the side of the coffin, and Sherlock doesn’t let go of Mycroft.

When its over and there all directed to head to the graveside for the next part. Greg doesn’t move. Mycroft makes it half way down the church isle in Sherlocks arms before he realizes.

“Greg… “ it’s a whisper Sherlock barely hears. 

“Sherlock go to him dear.” Mrs. Hudson interjects. “Myself and James will stay with Mycroft.

“He cant leave me, he promised.” Another sob.

“He’s not, My, I’ll get him. We’ll meet you there.”  
Dazed Mycroft leaves in James arms, and Sherlock is only grateful that Greg hasn’t seen that again. 

Sitting next to Greg, Sherlock places a hand on his knee, before he speaks. “…Greg… Its time.” His previously blank eyes fill immediately. 

“Mycroft needs you.” And Greg just sobs. “I cant Sherlock… I can’t move.”

“Gregory, I understand this is difficult…”

“Sherlock I know you’re trying to help, but please…” he continues to sob, “If I move… it it this is real, and then she’s gone…. And I failed her, and am failing Myc and I, so I cant move.”

“Greg… look at me please…” Reluctantly, there eyes meet, and Sherlock places a hand on Greg’s back. 

“This is happening.” He says almost to slowly. “Whether you sit here or come with me, she’s still gone.” Greg sobs and looks a way, reaching blindly for something to hold on to. He is grateful when Sherlock grabs his hand and squeezes till it hurts. “I would stop this if I could, we all would. But we cant and we are here, Greg, and the only thing I can promise you right now is that you are not alone. So if you need to sit here, I’ll stay with you.”

“Myc…….. Mycroft.” Greg gets out in-between the calming breaths he’s trying to take and agonizing sobs. 

“Mycroft didn’t want to tell you Sherlock, he wanted it to be a sur.. surprise.” Breathe, he reminds himself as he can feel the walls closing in. “We were calling her Shelly.” He whispers, his throat giving out completely.

Falling into Sherlock arms, Greg shakes, but the sobs have quietened. 

“Greg…” Sherlock continues after a moment. “That is the greatest honor I have ever been given.” Somehow both men smile, but its so so sad.

“Let me say goodbye to my niece, Greg, please. Your daughter and your husband both need you.”

After thinking for a moment, Greg responds. “You’re right Sherlock, I’m sorry. I…” He sits up, and wipes his face with shaking hands. “Let’s… lets go.” He says standing, taking breaths that a far to deep, but probably the only reason he’s conscious of his surroundings right now. 

Sherlock stands with him, and after a few steps towards the exist, Greg falters slightly. Saying nothing Sherlock puts his arms around his waist leading him wordlessly to where he needs to be, but where he desperately does not want to go.

At the graveside, Mycroft is standing alone, James having let go when it started to rain slightly and Mycroft realized James wasn’t who he wanted to hold him.

He desperately wanted to go find Greg, to run away from all of this. But he could not promise himself he would come back, and knew he couldn’t leave his daughter. So he stands silently, alone, praying his brother will come through for him. Looking anywhere but the grave in front of him.

Greg comes up to the graveside, having numbly walked from the church. He cant say whether Sherlock moved his arm from his waist or not, all he knows is he no longer feels it. He no longer feels anything…….. until he sees Mycroft.

He’s to composed, anyone else would believe he’s finally getting it together, but Greg can see the total opposite. His limbs are locked. His breathing measured. He is shaking ever so slightly. And the sight stops Greg in his tracks.

He feels Sherlock stabilizes him a little. Pushing him slightly, encouraging him to move.

He walks silently to his husband, originally planning on standing next to him, he decides that maybe just maybe this will be a little easier if they cant see each others faces.

Placing a shaking hand on his shoulder, Mycroft instantly knows who he stood behind him. He almost passes out, leaning heavily into his husband. He wraps his right arm over himself, gripping Greg’s wrist, silently weeping. 

Someone places a chair behind Greg and he falls numbly in to it, taking Mycroft who collapses on the ground in front of him, with him. 

Mycroft hugs his husbands legs, trying to breathe away the agony that’s overcome ever muscle of his body. He feels his husband kiss his head, shaking just as hard as he is, and damp with tears. 

Additional chairs are pulled up around the grave, and everyone resolutely does not look at the weeping parents. All except one boy stood silently at the back. His focus never leaving the two men. 

Time passes before the coffin is brought to the graveside, carried again by John. Once placed in its position, John joins Sherlock, eyes equally wet, though trying desperately not to show it. 

The two speak briefly before attempting to pick Mycroft up off the floor, and place him on a chair next to Greg. Mycroft grip only tightens on his husband, and Greg closes his eyes. “Don’t make me let go, please…” he sobs again, burying himself in his husband's legs. Greg suppresses the vile memory, as his promise is remembered, his decision is made. 

Greg stands, slowly, and asks John in a voice that doesn’t sound like his to move the chair from behind him. He hesitates but does as he is asked. 

Just as he is about to sit on the ground he whispers in a voice oddly calm. “You stayed with her this whole time?”

“Yes. Of course, I did.”

“I… She’s…” he wants to say okay, but dead cant be okay can it?

“She was never alone.”

He wants to thank John for being there when he couldn’t be, but his response is only to cry harder.

He drops to the ground cradling Mycroft.

And that’s it really? What else is there to say?  
A funeral is never easy, and there isn’t a dry eye around the grave. 

Painfully slowly and frightingly quickly all at once its over and everyone leaves. John persuades James and Mrs. Hudson that its for the best they all meet them at the wake, after an almost argument Sherlock stays. He couldn’t be sure if Mycroft and Greg would ever leave here if he didn’t.

Mycroft and Greg haven’t moved. They both stopped audibly crying a few minutes into the burial but the tears just wouldn’t give up. 

They’re breathing in sync with one another. And for a fleeting moment, Greg thinks it might be better if they never leave this position. They could die here together, all three of them. It would certainly be easier. It didn’t quite hurt so much it was just numb. 

After several minutes Sherlock is about to go and tell Greg it might be time to leave, he doesn’t think that’s going to go down well. So when he realizes the three of them aren’t quite alone, he decides to go and find out who the stranger is stood a distance back from the grave. Anything to avoid disturbing his brother ‘peace’ for just a little longer. 

“Hello. Have we met before?”. Silence, not even eye contact. Only the slight tightening of the stranger muscles signal he has heard what Sherlock has said. A moment later he continues, “Its just I know all…”but you don’t know all of his ‘friends’ do your Sherlock… “most of Mycroft and Greg’s friends. And I don’t think we’ve met before?.”

“No.” The stranger replies hugging himself a little, looking at Sherlock briefly. “We haven’t met. I haven’t met Mycroft either…. I’m so sorry I don’t mean to intrude”. The stranger looks familiar, shy, genuine, so Sherlock acts before he can leave. 

“You aren’t. I assure you. It’s just now might not be a good time…. If you were looking to speak with them?”

“Mycroft…” he mumbles, eyes clearly wet. “I wanted to speak to Mycroft. I wouldn’t have come, I shouldn’t have come. Its just I didn’t know how else to find him. But this is inappropriate, and private, and devastating, and I shouldn’t be here.” He’s rambling, he knows, he cant stop.

“If you could go to the wake, I could give the address. It would be easier then. Not easy, but easier definitely.”

“I… you don’t have to”. Anxiety, doesn’t like rooms full of people, particularly strangers. 

“Its important, the reason you need to see Mycroft?”

“I…. yes… no… yes…” sigh…. “Yes, Sherlock it is important but it can wait.”  
He knows my name, this in intriguing. 

“I can give you my phone number. You could contact me in few days, if its still important. I could put you in touch with Mycroft at a ….. better time.”

A soft smile. One Sherlock knows he’s seen before, but where?

“Thank you.” He looks at Sherlock and hands him his phone to input his number.

Taking the phone, adding his number and giving it back. Sherlock makes eye contact with the stranger, “give it a while though wont you.”

“Of course.” 

Sherlock nods, and the stranger takes one last look at the grave, at Greg and Mycroft before silently turning to leave. 

 

Sherlock watches for a moment, interested and ashamedly distracted by this new puzzle presented to him. But that’s not important now, his brother needs him. 

After a few moments, resolutely Sherlock goes over to Greg and Mycroft. 

As he gets closer he can here Greg shushing Mycroft, who isn’t making a sound. 

Placing a hand on Greg’s shoulder that makes both Greg and his brother jump slightly. Sherlock crouches by them speaking quietly. “It is time we should be leaving. Everyone has gone to the wake.” Greg tenses, holding his breath for a moment and Mycroft sobs are renewed. 

After a few minutes Greg looks at Sherlock, “Thanks Sherlock, can we have a minute.”

Instantly Sherlock wants to say, but you’ve had almost an hour, slightly frustrated by Greg’s request. But the sadness in his eyes, he cant refuse this. “Of course, I’ll wait in the car.” Squeezing Greg’s shoulder Sherlock stands and makes his way back to the Limo.

How is he supposed to convince Mycroft to leave, when he doesn’t want to leave either, he wonders. 

“My…” its barely a whisper, but Mycroft shakes increase and he knows he’s been heard. “We have to leave honey…”

Mycroft convulses once, before sobbing again.

“No... Please G…ggg…. Please don’t don’t make me l..l..leave her. Please.” They’re both shaking.

“Mycroft……” he sighs, and sobs all at once. “My.. sweetheart… I don’t want to leave her either… I don’t… but we’re not… not really… we’ll never leave her okay. But …. But we have to leave here… for now.” 

Mycroft’s nods in Greg’s chest. “Don’t let go of my Greg….” Mycroft sobs… “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’m not going to leave… I’m not going to let go. I promise.” He kisses his head, “I’m gonna carry you to the car okay?” Greg says while standing and lifting Mycroft in one movement. Greg doesn’t have the strength to hold Mycroft not really, but he knows he needs to and so he does. “Just breathe… that’s all you have to do.” Another kiss on Greg’s head and a silent goodbye to his daughter. Mycroft burrows into Greg’s chest as he carries him to the car. 

 

When Sherlock sees Greg holding Mycroft approaching the limo, he gets out of the car to open the door.

“Get in Sherlock and I’ll pass him to you.” Sherlock does as he’s asked. And Mycroft whimpers at the severed contact. “I’m here.” He shuts the door, and takes Mycroft from Sherlock. “We are going to have to go home, Sherlock. He’s in no state to be around other people. Can you give our apologies.”

“Of course.” 

Sherlock is to compliant. Greg realizes, its also to different, to wrong. He holds on to Mycroft tighter and its all he can do to not breakdown before they get home. 

 

When they get home Greg puts Mycroft in bed, undresses him and makes him comfortable. Before going into the Livingroom collapsing on the sofa and sobbing uncontrollably, hand over his mouth, trying not to wake Mycroft, who passed out from exhaustion before they got home. 

Eventually Greg is calmer, in agony, but calm. So he goes to lie next to Mycroft, on top of the blankets so not to wake him. Stroking his lovers face he eventually drifts off into a dreamless sleep. Making sure to keep contact with Greg as he promised the whole night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no promises to when the next chapter will be, but I'll try not to make it as long as the wait was for this. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final Chapter in this book, revealing a big secret that James has been keeping for a long time.

[1 day earlier with James]  
Hey Mike, it’s James. I know I said me and Christine would come visit today, but somethings came up. I… I’m really very sorry Mikey. But I’ll definitely be there tomorrow, and you can still reach me on my mobile if you need anything. Give my best to Gregory won't you.

As James hangs the phone, he’s late he realizes. He needs to get back to Christine sooner rather than later, so this needs to be over.   
Impatiently he waits another 15 minutes before the figure comes into view, and James stills himself wondering briefly how he got into this situation. But there isn’t time for that properly now. 

“You’re late” acts as his greeting, and it fails at hiding his anger.  
“I didn’t really expect to hear from you uncle James, it's been a while.”  
“I’m sorry about that, kid. I’ve been really busy.”  
“As always, so what’s changed, why did you want to see me now.”  
“Shall we go for a coffee?”.   
“Somethings wrong. You only want to take this slow, go for a coffee, when somethings wrong. So what is it? Why am I here?!”  
There’s a silence that stretches on a little too long.  
“Oh screw it…” and as he walks away James speaks finally.  
“It's your dad Scott.”

“My dead dad”, Scott grits out.   
“About that… kid listen, I should have told you this a long time ago…”  
“Told me what…” Scott says paling because he knows the answer, but he needs to hear it.

Minutes pass as the anger builds inside Scott, his mind is going so fast is cant feel his legs and his arms are on there way out. The silence is confirmation enough, almost. But he needs it in words… needs to know.

And so James calmly reveals all. Swearing that when he took him from his father, he really thought he was dead. And as he walked the field to bury him, he began to cry.   
And not knowing what to do, James panicked and took Scott to a nearby church. Leaving a note with him, that his name was to be Scott, per his father's wishes, who was no longer able to care for him as he had wished.   
And that was that. James had gone back to Mycroft and comforted him over his dead child. Held him as he cried all night. And drove him in perfect silence back to London. Where they parted ways and never spoke of the night's events, at least not directly, again.

A tragic story, made worse by lies that ruined more than one life. Revealed in minutes, in a park on a dreary afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next book will be from the perspective of Scott, at least for the first couple of chapters. 
> 
> As you know by now, It'll take as long as it takes for me to get it up here but I shall try my best.


End file.
